Chapter 9 - The Man Camille Chose
Preston was arrested on charges unrelated to me.
That pleased me more than revenge would have.
Wire fraud. Conspiracy. Obstruction. False statements involving federally insured lending. The mortgage-servicing scheme connected to Lakefront Urban Renewal had affected more than a hundred homeowners, including Josie.
Camille had helped investigators obtain records.
She stood in Josie’s living room while marshals drove Preston away.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said.
Josie handed her a towel because rain had soaked her hair.
I noticed the gesture.
Camille did too.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Josie nodded.
No friendship appeared magically between them. Life rarely offers transformations that convenient.
But cruelty did not repeat itself simply because it would have been satisfying.
Camille sat at the kitchen table.
“I’m going to lose my job.”
“Maybe,” I said.
She looked at me sharply.
“You could fix it.”
“No.”
The answer hurt her.
I continued before she misunderstood.
“I can pay for counsel if you need independent representation. I can testify truthfully. I can give investigators documents. I will not pressure your employer.”
She stared at the table.
“That’s what you meant when you said you wouldn’t punish me.”
“Yes.”
“You’re really not coming back.”
“No.”
Josie quietly left the kitchen.
Camille watched her go.
“Is there something between you?”
“Not the way you mean.”
“But you want there to be.”
I did not answer.
Camille smiled sadly.
“That’s an answer.”
She stayed until midnight, then accepted a ride from federal security to her sister’s apartment.
After she left, I found Josie on the back steps wrapped in a blanket.
“You heard?” I asked.
“The walls are thin.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That you got pulled into a conversation about my marriage.”
“Ex-marriage.”
I looked at her.
She smiled faintly.
We sat in silence.
Finally she said, “I don’t want to be the reward at the end of your divorce.”
The directness hit me harder than accusation would have.
“You’re not.”
“I know. I’m saying it now so neither of us gets stupid later.”
“Fair.”
“I like you.”
My pulse changed.
She continued immediately.
“I also think your family is terrifying, your schedule is unhealthy, and half the men around you look like they know where to hide a body.”
“Only half?”
“Don’t joke.”
“Sorry.”
She looked at me.
“I like the man who counted coins for soup. I’m still figuring out whether he is the same man people stand up for at warehouses.”
“So am I.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her.
The next morning, the court issued a broader injunction against the foreclosure fund. Josie’s house was safe temporarily.
Then came better news.
Forensic auditors traced inflated fees and fabricated delinquencies. The fund had overcharged her by enough that, after corrections, she was not six months behind.
She was eleven months ahead.
When Salian explained it, Josie stared at him.
“You’re telling me I worked three jobs while they owed me money?”
“Yes.”
She stood so quickly her chair tipped.
For a second I thought she might cry.
Instead she swore creatively for nearly thirty seconds.
Salian waited with impressive dignity.
Then she laughed.
It started small and became uncontrollable.
I laughed with her.
She turned to me, eyes wet.
“I’m not losing the house.”
“No.”
“I’m not losing the house.”
“No.”
This time, when she hugged me, I did not move for half a second because I was afraid of reading too much into it.
Then I put my arms around her.
She smelled like diner coffee and laundry soap.
My phone rang.
Rocco.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Josie stepped back.
“Answer.”
“I don’t want to.”
“That is different from not needing to.”
I answered.
Rocco’s voice was calm.
“The board meets tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“You file that trust amendment, the family loses control.”
“The family keeps representation.”
“You are giving dock workers power over us.”
“I’m giving them power over the company they built with us.”
“You sound exactly like your father.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
A pause.
Then Rocco said something that erased every trace of humor.
“Your father signed the amendment after he learned who arranged the attempt on his life.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“What attempt?”
“The one before the shooting.”
I stood.
Josie saw my face.
Rocco continued.
“If you want the truth about Gabriel, come alone to the old family house tonight.”
The line went dead.
Before I left for the family house, Josie asked me one question that nearly made me cancel the meeting.
“If he confesses, what do you do?”
I stared at her.
“I turn it over to Bell.”
“That’s the correct answer. What’s the honest one?”
I looked away.
She waited.
“I don’t know.”
“Then figure it out before you go.”
I hated that advice because it was good.
For years I had imagined confronting whoever killed my father. In those fantasies, I was decisive. Cold. Dangerous. The kind of man newspaper profiles insisted the Ferraros produced naturally.
But fantasies ignore aftermath.
If I killed the person responsible, I would not bring my father back. I would only create another secret someone else would later have to survive.
I called Agent Bell before leaving.
“If Rocco admits involvement, I want it handled legally.”
“That was already the plan.”
“I’m saying it for me.”
She understood.
“Then say it again.”
“I will not retaliate outside the law.”
“Good.”
When I hung up, Josie nodded.
“Now go.”
“You’re strangely comfortable ordering me around.”
“Someone has to use your executive structure responsibly.”
I smiled.
Then I drove to the house where my father had died believing the worst thing I might learn was that Rocco ordered the shooting.
I was wrong.
The worst thing was learning Rocco had seen danger coming and convinced himself that a warning was enough.
There are betrayals committed with weapons.
There are others committed with hesitation.
May you like
That night taught me the second kind can last longer.
That changed everything again.
